Weakness is a Dangerous Weapon
by tigers-snipers-and-rifles
Summary: Every person has their weakness, and as indestructible as he may seem, James Moriarty is one of those people.


An ambassador, the man claimed to be, but the criminal knew better than to believe such folly. He was of no importance, that was clear to see. All he was interested in was the deeds that Jim held within his possession. With those, this fraud would then have the honour of owning the business that had fallen due to the previous man (who had been in charge) getting killed. And now someone was needed to restore it.

The imposter glanced at the pool thoughtfully; it was the very same pool Jim had encountered Sherlock Holmes and also where Carl Powers had drowned. He was rather fond of it for those reasons.

"You are a powerful man, Mr. Moriarty, and I respect that, but surely you can see eye to eye with the likes of myself reestablishing this organisation. I may be the best choice. I have enough qualifications, I am skilled in such areas, I know exactly how to run a business. And yet you still refuse me. How so?" The man questioned, feigning a look of hurt as if that would change his mind.

"With all due respect, Mr. Carson, I have already considered this matter to a great extent and wish to give the title to Ian Gardener," Jim replied cooly. "I find you in no fit state to run the business." That angered the man, he was pleased to see. The dark look was exchanged for a smile in almost an instant. _He's going to try and win me with his charms_, he thought dully.

"Of course, he is a good man, but only to those he likes. He is not trustworthy. Nor will he be friendly with you. He lacks in certain areas where I do not. I promise you, if I am granted the business, there will no longer be a feud between both empires. I am your friend." Carson smiled almost close to an impersonation of the Cheshire Cat's.

_You are no friend of mine, nor will you ever be._

"I understand, but I have made my decision."

"Decisions can be remade." The fraud retorted.

"Give me one good reason why I should give you these deeds." Jim retrieved the papers from his pocket. Carson's eyes glittered with greed at the sight of them, distracted for the slightest moment. He never took his gaze off them when he answered.

"As I said, all, let's say, difficulties between your empire and the one I wish to own will be forgotten. We'll start anew." Carson finally met his eyes with a smirk. He walked closer, placing a hand on Jim's shoulder, much to his distaste. "When I said I was your friend, I meant it."

"And if I still refuse?"

"Then I'm afraid I have no other choice but to take it by force." Without warning, he snatched the deeds and gave him a quick, sharp shove.

Jim stumbled backwards and slipped. Water came up to meet him as a shot rang out across the room. For a second, he could not comprehend what had happened in a daze of confusion, but once realisation hit, panic swept over him. The water got in his mouth and eyes, up his nose and his damp suit weighed him down. It was then that he tried to shout, but swallowed more water. Chlorine stung his eyes when he opened them, blinding him.

For an instant, Jim surfaced, sucked in air and sunk again as quickly. _Swim, you imbecile_, he thought desperately, _swim_. His arms flailed, but to no avail. _I'm drowning_, he realised as the panic became overwhelming. It was then he remembered Carl Powers and how the boy had clawed at the water in a fit of fear.

An arm curled around him and he was hauled out, and he had never been as grateful in his life. Jim's fingers curled around whatever material he could find and he clung to it like a helpless child.

"James."

The criminal stirred when he heard his name. He went to reply, but only coughed up water and nearly retched as the bile caught in his throat. His eyes stung as he forced them open, and as blurry as his vision was, he still recognised the sniper. _Sebastian_. He had forgotten about him. Thankfully he was the only sniper here, considering Jim had not seen a need to bring more than one.

Moran shakily helped him to his feet. "Are you... Are you all right, Sir?" He asked, uncertain.

"Do I bloody look all right?" Jim snapped as his senses slowly, but surely returned to him. He was half leaning against him for support and his hands were balled into fists around Sebastian's shirt, but he released them immediately when he noticed, recoiling from the man in disgust.

"No, but - What... happened there?"

_He noticed_. That was all Jim needed. "I think it was quite obvious," he gave him a venomous look. Sebastian had seen him at his most vulnerable and the Irishman was vexed by that, if not ashamed. "You think that from that 'performance' you'd be able to catch on that I can't-" _Swim_, he thought, embarrassed.

Moran didn't have to ask for the last word. A look of surprise crossed his face, where Jim would have expected amusement. Wordlessly, the man held out papers which could only be the deeds. He gave him a questioning look and the sniper nodded toward Carson's dead body a few metres away. A bullet had pierced the back of his head.

Snatching them, Jim gathered himself together. Yet Moran felt the need to remind him of the incident, if you could call it that. "I never realised that-"

"Did you ever wonder why Carl laughed at me?" He snarled, remembering how the boy used to tease him over such a small matter. He could almost here the wretched boy's laughter ringing in his ears. So he had killed him, and if Moran found it funny, he'd kill him too, preferably by drowning him. "If you speak of this to anyone," he warned, glowering at the taller man, "I will disembowel you myself and feed you your entrails. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir." Sebastian answered instantly. That was the Jim he knew, not the frail and fearful man who had clung to him in desperation only a minute ago.

Jim turned on his heel to leave without another word, gesturing for the sniper to clear up the bloody mess he had created as the sodden suit uncomfortably rubbed against his skin with every stride.


End file.
